


The Tip of His Tongue

by robinasnyder



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Public Humiliation, demon!Lucifer, war of tears 2013
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-19
Updated: 2013-06-19
Packaged: 2017-12-15 11:15:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/848901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/robinasnyder/pseuds/robinasnyder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lucifer kneels at Crowley's feet, willing to suffer any humiliation so long as Crowley won't put him back on the rack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Tip of His Tongue

**Author's Note:**

  * For [octopifer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/octopifer/gifts).



“Come on boy, I know you can do it,” Crowley murmured. One of his Hell Hounds snarled behind Lucifer. Lucifer bared his teeth at the King of Hell. He doesn’t have a choice. He can’t say no. He can’t disobey, but he can take his time. 

“Now, now, darling. There’s no need to be so angry,” Crowley said with too much joy in his voice. When Lucifer was still an angel he had found Crowley insufferable on good days. Now that Lucifer was a demon he hated the King of Hell. He hadn’t even bowed to his own father in millennia, but now he was on his hands and knees at Crowley’s feet. 

“Don’t make me angry, you won’t like me when I’m angry.” He had to be quoting something Lucifer didn’t know, because his tone was just that smug. But he was right, Lucifer couldn’t wait any longer. 

He bent his head down, extending his tongue across Crowley’s shiny black shoes. As far as shoes went they were fairly clean. And Lucifer knew because he spent hours polishing the damn things. Crowley liked expensive shoes that were probably ruined by saliva, which Lucifer would find himself punished for later. But the dirt on the leather wasn’t the point, nor was the cleaning or destructive properties of spit. It was about proving that Lucifer would do as he was told. 

He ran his tongue over the toe cap, making certain to use as much tongue as he could. He had to look willing and lightly touching the leather with the tip of his tongue was a fantastic way to get the Hell Hounds clawing at his insides. Crowley had angels on the payroll who would happily put his vessel back together again. Crowley had dragged Nick’s body out of his grave and gotten life breathed back into it just so that newly demon Lucifer would be recognizable. 

As a military leader, Lucifer recognized the brilliance of Crowley’s strategy. He had Lucifer list off plans and names and things the demons had done so the rebel factions would lose spirit to see their God reduced to one of the lowest of their ranks. 

For precision Lucifer ran the tip of his tongue along the welt. He knew their eyes were on him, the eyes of the rebels Crowley had caught. It turned out not even he could survive torture very long. Crowley assured him that he’d brushed off the old racks just for him. It was a privilege. Lucifer hadn’t even had time to get used to having a soul when a large truck had slammed into him. It was his father’s last cosmic joke. 

Knowing that his father had left him here, had stripped him of his home, his family, even his race was what finally broke him. Any remaining temper would eventually fade. Lucifer held on to it, wondering when the day would come that he no longer even felt shame or a prickle of anger from the position he was placed in. 

He wondered if Crowley would keep him as an assistant or continue for all eternity to degrade him. Lucifer wasn’t even human, but the body he wore ached and he could feel it. His back burned and his elbows screamed at him. His knees hurt no less. He closed his black eyes tightly and focused on the smell of leather. 

“Good boy,” Crowley said. “In no time you’ll be trained as well as one of my dogs.” 

Lucifer opened his eyes and looked up at Crowley for a minute; glared at him. Crowley pulled Lucifer up by the leash. The collar forced Lucifer to sit up. They glared at each other for a moment. Lucifer couldn’t last. He didn’t want to go back on the rack. He dropped his gaze. 

“Good boy,” Crowley said. “Now, back to work. You don’t want me to have to punish you.” Crowley presenting his shoe back to Lucifer. 

Lucifer rushed back to his assignment, licking the leather with enthusiasm. The hatred he felt for his father and for the King of Hell was nothing compared to the hatred he felt for himself. His soul was weak and frail and he’d given in after only fifty years. He gripped Crowley’s ankle so he could have better access. He sat at the King’s feet, cleaning his shoes like it meant all the world to him.


End file.
